


By Any Other Name

by tracedepas



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, First Kiss, John Watson gives good advice, M/M, Q is a Holmes, Sherlock and Q bicker like children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracedepas/pseuds/tracedepas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When 007 shows up on Q’s doorstep covered in blood, the first doctor Q thinks to call is John Watson, who just so happens to be his brother’s boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me for any medical inaccuracies. I got all my information off of google, so don't hesitate to point out any mistakes.

Bond knocked on the door, wincing in pain as the movement jarred his ribs. From what he could tell, at least two of them were broken.

The door swung open to reveal a very surprised Q.

“What the hell happened to you?” he demanded, already ushering Bond in.

“Mission took a wrong turn,” Bond managed.

“Was it successful?”

“Yes, I just happened to get a little roughed up in the process,” Bond said, closing his eyes as the room spun.

Q steered him to his sofa, and Bond eased himself down. He absently realized he was getting blood on the upholstery and managed a small grin.

“You’re insane. I won’t even bother asking how you know where I live,” Q ranted as he got a towel from the kitchen. “It’s my luck getting stuck with you so I get to be woken up in the middle of the bloody night with a bleeding agent on my doorstep. Everyone must be so jealous.”

Q took to damp towel and wiped the blood from Bond’s brow. Bond winced as he cleaned the cut. “Sorry,” Q murmured, meeting Bond’s eyes.

Q was incredibly close to him, sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning over to wipe away the blood. Bond couldn't look away from his piercing gaze. Under the annoyance he could see the faint lines of worry and Bond felt something warm bloom in his chest that almost definitely had nothing to do with his injured ribs.

Q cleared his throat and pulled away, assessing the rest of the damage.

“Where are you hurt?” Q asked, his eyes roaming over the bloodied suit.

“Knife wound on my abdomen,” he said, gesturing to the large patch of blood. “I managed to staunch the bleeding, but I don’t want to open it up in case it starts again. I think I broke, or at least bruised a few ribs. I might have hit my head too.”

“You need to go to a hospital, you need a doctor,” Q mumbled, reaching for his phone.

“I can’t go to a hospital,” Bond said.

“I know that,” Q snapped, fingers flying over the keyboard. “But I don’t exactly fancy you bleeding out on my couch.”

Bond shut his mouth and Q put his phone away and went to get more towels. He helped Bond take off his jacket and tie, but the shirt stayed on. It was stained crimson, and Bond winced when he saw that parts of it had dried to his cut. That was going to hurt like hell when he tried to take it off.

There was a rap on the door and Bond tensed, reaching for his gun automatically. He hissed as pain shot through his chest and his vision swam.

“Calm down, I called someone to help,” Q assured him as he went to open the door.

The first man in was tall. He had dark hair and pale skin. The man that followed was shorter. He had blonde hair and Bond could tell that he was a soldier, or a former one, he  
mused as he took in the jumper. He also carried a medical bag, so Bond figured this was his doctor.

“I’m guessing this is my patient?” the blonde man asked wryly, already walking towards Bond. “I’m Dr. Watson. Can you tell me where you’re injured?”

Bond again gave a summary of his injuries; gratefully swallowing the painkillers he was given.

He wet a sponge and worked it over his wound through the shirt. Bond winced at the pressure but it helped the shirt come off cleanly. 

“Can I ask why there’s a bloodied double-oh agent on your sofa?” the dark haired man asked Q as Dr. Watson cleaned the wound. It went from his bottom rib to his left hip.

“It’s too late for this Sherlock,” Q sighed. The man’s name was Sherlock then. Odd name, though the man seemed to be far from normal.

“Not too late to call me from bed-“

“It’s not you I called for, it was John,” Q cut him off. “And we both know you weren’t sleeping.”

“Touchy,” Sherlock said with a smile.

“Yes, well-“

“Boys,” Dr. Watson cut them off. “I’m trying to work. Either shut up of get out.”

Bond couldn’t help but grin as both dark haired men fell silent.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for your ribs. It feels like two of them are broken. You just need painkillers and rest for a few weeks,” Dr. Watson, John apparently, continued. 

“The cut is going to need stitches, but what I’m most worried about is your head. Have you been feeling nauseous?”

Bond considered lying about the rolling in his stomach, but before he could open his mouth John continued.

“Right. You probably have a very minor concussion. You’ll need to be woken up every few hours tonight,” John said firmly.

“I never said I was nauseous,” Bond argued.

“I have enough experience with stubborn people to know when someone is going to lie about symptoms,” John said, pointedly looking at Sherlock. 

“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Q offered.

“How touching,” Sherlock drawled. “I’m sure you’ll make a good nursemaid.”

“Oh shut up,” Q snarled.

“You are touchy tonight. Or are you just touchy about him?” Sherlock egged on.

“Sherlock I’m warning you…”

“Yes, well, you haven’t ever been very threatening little brother,” Sherlock sneered.

“At least I don’t have a pet soldier follow me around to shoot people for me.”

“He’s quite good at giving blow jobs as well,” Sherlock added with a grin.

“Enough!” John yelled. “Out! Both of you!”

“But-“ Q started.

“No. I can’t fix your agent here if you two are bickering.”

They both filed out of the room, leaving Bond with John. 

“Brothers?” Bond asked.

“Bloody idiots, the lot of them,” John muttered.

“How many of them are there?” Bond asked, slightly horrified.

“Just three, thank god,” John said. He laughed lightly. “Can you imagine if there were more?”

“A whole army of smart-arse idiots with gorgeous hair,” Bond laughed, wincing when it moved his ribs.

“Gorgeous hair?” John asked pointedly.

“’He’s quite good at giving blow jobs?’” Bond countered.

“I’ve been Sherlock for years,” John smirked. “You and, what do you call him? Q? I didn’t realize you and Q-“

“There isn’t anything between us. He’s my Quartermaster,” Bond said firmly. “That is all.”

“Fair enough,” John conceded. “But I wasted years telling everyone that Sherlock was just my flatmate.”

John stitched his abdomen and dressed it quickly.

“Try not to get them wet for 48 hours, and don’t soak them. Call me if they tear, if not I’ll take them out in two weeks,” John said as he wiped his hands.

He called for the brothers to enter again, and they were both contrite as they entered the room.

“Wake him up every few hours, ask him some simple questions. If he gets worse, call me. And no alcohol while on the painkillers,” John said sternly.

“Yes, do take care of him Q,” Sherlock said mockingly before sweeping out of the room.

“Well Mister…” John trailed off.

“Bond - James Bond.”

“Well Mr. Bond, hopefully I don’t see you for two weeks. Feel better, and think about what I said,” John said with a wink before he too left.

Q moved around the flat as Bond dozed, cleaning up the mess. The next thing he knew Bond was being gently prodded awake. He groaned at the pounding in his head and the ache of his ribs.

“More painkillers?” Q offered. Bond took them gratefully

“What year is it?” Q demanded, taking the glass of water from him.

“2013.”

“Your name?”

“James Bond. Or 007, whichever you prefer,” Bond said with a grin.

“Still an arrogant arse then,” Q laughed.

It was dawn when Bond woke, this time without Q’s prodding. He gingerly made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself and clean off the rest of the blood, carefully avoiding  
getting his bandage wet. When he emerged Q was up.

“When you told me about the damage you can do sitting in your pajamas I never thought I’d be experiencing it first hand,” Bond quipped as he watched Q prepare a cup of tea.

“Ha ha ha, you’d be much funnier if you weren’t convalescing on my sofa,” Q shot back, not even looking up.

Bond thought back to John’s words from the night before and before he could change him mind he strode (well, strode as well as one can with broken ribs) up to Q and pulled him into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my obligatory bondlock. I've only watched the Craig Bond movies, and Skyfall only once, so you can chalk shoddy characterization up to that. Please leave a comment. I might continue this just so Bond can meet Mycroft.


End file.
